Ethie’s heart was too full to permit her to reply, and Eunice soon left her alone, reporting downstairs how white and sick she was looking.  To Mrs. Markham’s credit we record that with a view to please her daughter-in-law, a fire was that afternoon made in the parlor, and Ethelyn solicited to come down, Mrs. Markham, who carried the invitation, urging that a change would do her good, as it was not always good to stay in one place.  But Ethelyn preferred the solitude of her own chamber, and though she thanked her mother-in-law for her thoughtfulness, she declined going down, and Mrs. Markham had made her fire for nothing.  Not even Melinda came to enjoy it, for she was in Camden, visiting a schoolmate; and so the day passed drearily enough with all, and the autumnal night shut down again darker, gloomier than ever, as it seemed to Ethelyn.  She had seen no one but Mrs. Markham and Eunice since Richard went away, and she was wondering what had become of Andy, when she heard his shuffling tread upon the stairs, and a moment after, his round shining face appeared, asking if he might come in.  Andy wore his best clothes on this occasion, for an idea had somehow been lodged in his brain that Ethelyn liked a person well dressed, and he was much pleased with himself in his short coat and shorter pants, and the buff and white cotton cravat tied in a hard knot around his sharp, standing collar, which almost cut the bottom of his ears.

“I wished to see you,” he said, taking a chair directly in front of Ethelyn and tipping back against the wall.  “I wanted to come before, but was afraid you didn’t care to have me.  I’ve got something for you now, though—­somethin’ good for sore eyes.  Guess what ’tis?”

And Andy began fumbling in his pocket for the something which was to cheer Ethelyn, as he hoped.

“Look a-here.  A letter from old Dick, writ the very first day.  That’s what I call real courtin’ like,” and Andy gave to Ethelyn the letter which John had brought from the office and which the detention of a train at Stafford for four hours had afforded Richard an opportunity to write.

It was only a few lines, meant for her alone, but Ethelyn’s cheek didn’t redden as she read them, or her eyes brighten one whit.  Richard was well, she said, explaining to Andy the reason for his writing, and then she put the letter away, while Andy sat looking at her, wondering what he should say next.  He had come up to comfort her, but found it hard to begin.  Ethie was looking very pale, and there were dark rings around her eyes, showing that she suffered, even if Mrs. Markham did assert there was nothing ailed her but spleen.

At last Andy blurted out:  “I am sorry for you, Ethelyn, for I know it must be bad to have your man go off and leave you all alone, when you wanted to go with him.  Jim and John and me talked it up to-day when we was out to work, and we think you orto have gone with Dick.  It must be lonesome staying here, and you only six months married.  I wish, and the boys wishes, we could do something to chirk you up.”